


In the Strange Peace

by Sour_Idealist



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Face-Sitting, Implied Enemies to Lovers, Kinktober 2018, Orcs, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 16:51:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16162973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: Two veterans of different armies, but the same war, make the most of a better world.





	In the Strange Peace

**Author's Note:**

> For day one of Kinktober 2018, face-sitting. Semi-public aspect just there for fun, I guess.

Grukarth lay in a bower beside the meandering Aerlindell and listened to the sounds of harpstrings rising up over the dale.

She slept here more easily than in the delicate elven beds, which she never trusted to take her weight, and she liked the scent of the silvered flowers, which danced between the trees on ropes of spindly vine. The bower was one of the few places in the dale where the sun did not burn her eyes, and she could listen to the water of the Aerlindell murmur and skip over the stones, making its serene way to the sounding familiar sea. Even the elves, she thought, could not make something tame and elegant out of the sea.

She let her eyes close – it was bright, even in the bower – and let the harpsound carry her a while.

No footfall woke her, here among the elves – even in this distant dale, where scarely one elf among hundreds had ever carried death on their silent feet. No, it was long and callused fingers on her face that woke her, and a low musical laugh that sounded like the river.

“Honored guest,” a voice said, as lovely as the harpstrings. “Awake, honored one.”

“Oh, leave off, Dellina,” Grukarth said, with a low laugh, and slitted one eye open. Kneeling beside her, all nut-brown skin and long roping falls of her hair, was her old enemy, her older friend, her host in this gilded place. Dellina. Dellina, who laughed, running one fond hand along the animal jut of Grukarth's jaw.

“But you are,” she said. “You are, and I brought you here.”

Grukarth chuckled, turning her head. Dellina's thumb brushed the sharp yellowed curve of her tusk. “You did,” she said, with the soft, foolish smile that had nonetheless frightened an elven child, her first day here. But Dellina, Dellinariea Lindarellis of the Dale of Silver Flowers, had known what that smile meant. Had, it seemed, always had.

Softly, Grukarth lifted her lover's callused scholar's fingers, scarred with the fire that Dellina could call. Kissed her fingertips. Kissed her palm. Her other hand pressed idly against the curve of Dellina's thigh, thumb rubbing against the many-layered silk of her robes. Dellina's laugh was different this time, mock-scandalized and smug at once.

“What, in the bower?” she asked, slipping her fingers between the black leather of Grukarth's teeth. Grukarth sucked at her fingertip, pulled her head back enough to answer:

“We have stories about your bowers, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” said Dellina. “But I didn't think you believed them.”

“I didn't,” Grukarth said, turning her head against Dellina's hand. “I was just teasing you a little. But, I mean, if I should have believed them...”

“As much as I should believe the stories about, oh, convenient heather bushes,” Dellina said, with a quirk of her eyebrows that won a laugh and a deep-green blush from her lover. It was funny now, those desperate traitor years, scavenging moments in the heather as they waited for the war. How strange, to be so far from it. How glorious.

“It was at least a secluded heather bush,” Grukarth said, and something of her joy in their journey was in her voice, for all her teasing. “Wouldn't want to scandalize those harpers.”

“Grukie,” Dellina said. “All my spells and dusty books, and you think I can't keep a bower private?”

“Well, then,” Grukarth said. “You're sure of yourself, if you've already got the spell laid down.”

“I'm sure of you,” Dellina said, her smile spreading and slow. Grukarth smiled back, her fingers curling around the back of Dellina's knee.

“Come on, then,” she said, and tugged her lover forward. “Don't want to waste time.” Dellina had burned most of her magic out of her a year before, in a day full of blood-fat summer flies and bodies bobbing in the sounding sea. And Grukarth knew very little about magic, but she knew how easy it was to lame yourself by running too soon on a half-healed leg. And, too, how much it hurt to have one's limbs made delicate, when one's strength was half one's self.

But Dellina was smiling with this new summer's sweetness as she slung one leg across Grukarth's shoulder, her knees framing Grukarth's face. Silk fell in diaphanous drifts, thick as fog, and Grukarth made a faint grumbling noise as she pushed the folds aside; then it was out of the way, and her world was the pressure of Dellina's thighs against her cheeks, Dellina's downy hair against her jaw. Leave it to the elves to have softer hair between their legs than anything that grew on Grukarth's head.

Dellina was half-dry yet, folds still small and folded tight, but that was easily rectified. A long stroke of Grukarth's tongue won her a twitch in Dellina's thighs, a heavy, happy sigh from above. Another stroke, another, and Grukarth craned her neck to brush ever-so-gently against Dellina's clit until it began to swell. A long stroke along Dellina's folds, which were beginning to unfurl for her, wetter now. There was nothing tame, nothing elegant, about that sour tang against her tongue; it was as glorious as magic, glorious as the sunrise over the sea.

This, the service of mouths, had scandalized her when Dellina first offered it; had shocked her to her core when Dellina, with her dull safe teeth, had first asked it of Grukarth. Orcs were made to eat nut-meat and bone-marrow without regard for casing. But Dellina had asked years ago, and she knew now how to keep her tusks only the gentlest touch of smooth dull ivory against the most delicate sensitive skin; a touch she knew could make Dellina purr. And, too, she was no longer surprised by Dellina's trust, the ease with which she put her delicate scholar-limbs at the mercy of Grukarth's sharp-edged sailor's strength.

Grukarth craned her neck up to suck at Dellina's clit and buried her fingers in the drifts of Dellina's skirts. Dellina moaned like a low-voiced flute, and Grukarth buried smugness in more long slow laving of the tongue, building faster, slowing once more. Here, too, was the advantage in being a lover built to crush bone: when Grukarth promised to eat Dellina out until her jaw ached and her tongue went numb, she promised a long and patient night indeed.

She meant no such promise now, not with Dellina's slow-regained magic shielding them quiet in the bower. Some soon slow summer night, with only Grukarth's grunts and Dellina's sighs rising in the sweet-scented air, she would make that promise and keep it. Now she swelled Dellina open, slick smearing across her face, until Dellina's thighs began to tremble and Dellina was grinding down, half-smothering her. No matter. Grukarth had been a diver, too, with a sailor and a soldier. She could press up into Dellina's want, could meet Dellina's use of her with joyful service; could press her nose into delicate soft hair and her tongue into the underside of Dellina's clit until Dellina cried out, and out again, and Grukarth felt the telltale flutter of orgasm pulse against her lips.

Softly, as Dellina panted, the muscles in her thighs going slack against Grukarth's cheeks and under Grukarth's hands, Grukarth traced _I love you_ in slow sweet strokes against Dellina's folds.

 


End file.
